


Arson isn't the only Stress Relief

by EstaJay



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Knitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstaJay/pseuds/EstaJay
Summary: Link is absolutely positively not stressed....okay, maybe he is. Just a little bit. (Pay no mind to the burning forest)
Relationships: Link & Young Link
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	Arson isn't the only Stress Relief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verymerrysioux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verymerrysioux/gifts).



> surprise ;)

Link is fine. He is perfectly fine. Tip top soldier shape. 

He's not stressed. Well, maybe a little bit - but who wouldn't? Maybe he shouldn't have charged into battle when he was only a trainee but he didn't join the army to run in the face of danger! Who did that anyway? (A lot of the army as he now knows - if he was stressed, which he definitely wasn't, all the fleeing instead of fighting would have doubled his stress) And sure, diving between the general and a fire-breathing dragon knight wasn't his brightest moment but you couldn't blame him for having an impulsive moment of heroism (he could have died there, oh fuck, he could have been crispy Link charcoal). The _actual honest to Farore_ _Triforce of Courage_ was absolutely not expected but he's honoured to have been divinely chosen and that in no way added to his non-existent stress (he's the hero, the _damned goddess fucking hero._ He isn't qualified. He isn't prepared. He literally joined the army last week! Why the fuck did the goddesses think _he_ was the perfect choice for their glowy triangle? And he's not only the hero now but a captain too?? He can barely manage a flock of cuccos yet now he's expected to lead several battalions of men who outstrip him in skill and experience?) And the princess disappearing didn't add to his stress (is she kidnapped? Dead?? Princesses always get kidnapped in stories but the hero is there to rescue her - except he's the fucking hero and he is not at all stressed by knowing the safety of the princess regent is on his shoulders) and neither did the little kid they found isn't making his tear his hair out because he's more competent than every soldier in the army combined and _he's a tiny child on the goddess damned battlefield oh fuck fuck fuck_ ** _fuck-_**

* * *

"Link."

He stands to attention and salutes. General Impa, however, looks completely unimpressed. 

"Link."

He shoves the magic rod even further behind him. Proxi, the traitor, is hovering by the general's shoulder instead of being close enough to be his voice. 

"Link."

He gives a charming smile. Well, it isn't that charming when all of Faron Woods is burning behind him. 

Lana gives an exasperated sigh. "Maybe you should find something to help destress."

He is not-

A tree crashes down behind him. Still on fire. Like the rest of the woods. 

Okay, maybe he's a little stressed. 

* * *

Everyone suggests he gets a hobby. He protests that he has tons of hobbies but they tell him to pick up a new one that doesn't involve training, scouting, sparring, battle tactics, weapon maintenance and above all no _tinkering with the old artifacts we found on the battlefield, dear goddesses Link are you trying to blow up camp?!_

He pouts. That's too many restrictions but General Impa threatened to give him service leave if he doesn't find something new to do, even though he's the hero and none of the soldiers can hold their own against a stalkid let alone hold a keep and he's the fastest when it comes to SOS responses that seem to happen every five seconds on the battlefield-

...maybe he does need a hobby. 

But what exactly? There isn't much to do in the middle of a war once everyone war-related is taken out of the equation. Reading was his favourite pastime before the war but he's read the few books he has so thoroughly that they're falling apart at the seams and new ones take more rupees and effort than they're worth to find. Writing is also out of the question - that paper and ink is better off going towards reports and letters for those who still have family to write to. 

He observes his fellow soldiers from afar in hopes of some inspiration...and finds nothing. Smoking always left a nasty aftertaste in his mouth that he never got used to - besides, he always trades the officer cigars in his rations for extra soap or sugar. Alcohol is the same and it also dulls his senses more than he can afford to. Cards and dice look fun but that requires socialising with the other soldiers, laughing and joking and all those other things that plunges another knife into his back when they inevitably die or turn traitor. 

He returns to his tent with a sigh after a wasted day of people watching. He had worn his trainee tunic and without the bright greens and blues of the hero tunic, no one spared him a second glance. Some passing soldiers had even sniggered he looked so green that he would be dead by the end of the week. There really isn't anything remarkable about him once his combat ability and hero status is taken out of the picture. 

Said hero tunic isn't neatly folded on his cot like he had left it. Instead, it became part of the cloth cocoon in the middle of it with a tiny child in the center who has no right being on the battlefield but is too stubborn and effective to keep off it. Who also looks cuter than he has any right to be swaddled like a baby for all the murder he's capable of. 

Link sits down on the cot by Young Link's feet, the mattress being so tough that it doesn't even sink or bend under him - and this is an officer's cot, he can't imagine the rocks the soldiers have to call bedding. He has a lot of privileges from being skyrocketed to a captain - a large tent to himself, extra rations, first pick whenever they have access to hot water - but that's not enough for a child. The night chill barely bothers him but Young Link shivers under the many layers of his cloth cocoon. They aren't far north enough for it to be snowing but winter is only going to get colder - definitely too cold for a boy who runs around in short sleeves and without pants. He wraps the blanket, the outermost layer of the cocoon, tighter around the sleeping boy and he snuggles deeper into his scarf which lies at the innermost. 

Maybe there is a hobby he could pick up. There's a small town an hour's walk from camp which hopefully has an old lady with the time and patience to teach him how to knit. 

* * *

Goddess bless little old ladies. Not only did the town have a knitting club, or more precisely a grandma gossip club, that met in the local tavern every night, they enthusiastically took him under their wing and crammed as much knowledge into his brain as they could in one night. His cheeks still ache from all pinching and it was unnerving how casually they were about admitting to murdering their former abusive husbands and fathers (maybe a granny brigade might be the most reliable unit in the army) but he returned to camp with enough yarn to clothe the whole army and a warning to never buy yarn from Herba. "It looks pretty and is local, dearie, but that yarn is a fucking lie. I lost two sets of good needles to stringy shit."

There's a surprising amount of nothing between life-or-death battles for the fate of the kingdom but it gives Link the time he needs to practise his knitting. More once he's mastered the ability to knit while marching or riding. Sometimes odd looks and snickers get thrown his way but he didn't care about them before and he certainly didn't now when he needed to keep his stitches right and straight. 

Young Link steals little glances with thinly veiled curiosity. It's adorable catching him staring, utterly mesmerized by the clicking of his needles, only to quickly turn away the moment he gets caught. Link humours him, holding the little knitted fabric against the boy with contemplative hmmms before returning to work. It becomes a little game: the kid inches closer, silent as a Sheikah, while Link knits away but when he looks up, Young Link innocently pretends to be doing something else. Eventually, Link feels a tiny chin resting on his shoulder and arms wrap around his neck as Young Link settles into his favourite perch (though he would prefer it if the brat didn't do it while they were walking because feet squeezing against his ribs _hurt_ ). 

Knitting is surprisingly relaxing. He avoided small repetitive tasks because he thought they would be boring and tiresome but anything can become boring after a certain amount of repetition and predictability. Look at war. Monster slaying felt like cutting grass and rescuing captains felt more like a chore than assisting allies. He now understands Volga’s constant search for stronger opponents. There might have been a lot more than a slightly charred forest if the (not-stress, he was absolutely not stressed) had gotten to him. 

Knitting was a little fragment of peace plucked from his short past before the war. Of quiet moments where he could just exist in the now without worrying about whether he’ll still have tomorrow to live. Of being productive without further staining his hands a bloodier red. Just letting his mind go blank as his hands mechanically followed muscle memory. 

“So you done yet?” a little voice pipes behind him. 

It takes all of Link’s self-control not to stab the brat in the gut with a knitting needle. “One day, doing that is going to land you in the healer’s tent.” 

“Someone’s got to actually land a hit first.” Young Link plops himself next to Link on the cot. “So is it done?” 

“You’re awfully excited.” Link smirks, tying off the last tassel. “It’s as if you think this is for you.” 

“Who else would it be for?” 

“It could be for Epona.”

“If you’re trying to choke her maybe.”

“Or it could be for Proxi.”

“Something that big. For a fairy.” 

“Fairies can get pretty big. She can grow into it.” 

Young Link pouts and Link has to resist the urge to pinch those puffed cheeks lest he lose a finger. Instead he laughs and wraps the completed scarf around the kid’s neck. It’s thicker than his own scarf, being made out of wool rather than cotton and he didn’t have the skill to replicate the embroidery but it’s good honest work. 

Immediately, his scowl fades and he snuggles into it with a content sigh. “It’s warm, and not as stinky.” 

“Keep it away from monster guts and it’ll stay that way.” But part of Link knows that it won’t stay clean for long. He would be surprised if it lasts longer than a month given that he doesn’t know any of the enchantments that kept his own scarf in one piece throughout the war. 

“I’ll take good care of it, better than you do for your scarf!” Then suddenly, Young Link hugs him. “Thank you.” he says softly. 

“You're welcome, kid.” He smiles gently while returning the hug. “At least there’s something to keep you warm since you refuse to wear pants.” 

Then the brat knees him in the gut. 

“You little shit.” Link gasps, doubling over. 

Young Link hops off the bed and blows a raspberry then saunters out of the tent without looking back. 

“Brat,” he mutters, straightening as the pain ebbs away. 

At the very least Young Link will be distracted for the next couple weeks showing off his new scarf. 

From his knitting bag, Link pulls out another knitting project - a red cloak that he hopes to get done before they head too far up north. At least with this, he can ensure that pantsless brat won’t be catching a cold. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hooks and Needles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311233) by [verymerrysioux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verymerrysioux/pseuds/verymerrysioux)




End file.
